Puck's Five Ways to Being Gay
by Choice
Summary: How Puck slowly came accept that he was a total fruit for Kurt Hummel, prissy clothes and all. Written for Scrawl Calibur: one-week, Set VI, Prompt One: Declare.


**Puck's Five Ways to Being Gay**

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Inspiration for this drabble gotten from The Stages of Grief. Sad, but true.  
I found out about _Scrawl Calibur_ through a friend of mine (_emo_chick_87_) and since I've been suffering from a definite funk I decided to take up the challenge. How hard could a drabblet a day be?  
But 250 words turned into 500 words turned into... well, _this._ I'm still waiting for confirmation that this isn't too long to be posted in the_ Scrawl Calibur_ community, but until then...  
Enjoy!

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Stage One: Denial

When looking at Kurt stopped making him want to punch something (or someone… like Kurt), he thought nothing of it. Maybe the urge to push _pretty little Hummel_ into the dumpster just to get his prissy outfits ruined had faded away with his overexposure to Homo Explosion.

It was nothing.

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Stage Two: Anger

When looking at Kurt made him sick for an entirely different reason (his face flushed, his palms sweated, his stomach felt like he'd binged on Taco Bell), he _really_ wanted to hit something. _Especially_ Kurt. _He_ was the reason Puck felt so weird, _he_ was the one dressing like a motherfucking _girl_ with his stupidly clingy pants and ridiculous frou-frou shirts. (Which Puck _swore_he'd seen on Sarah's "If I Ever Win the Lottery and Go On a Shopping Spree"-slash-ridiculously expensive birthday presents my brother should buy me list.)

He was beside himself, and today (of all fucking days) Hummel was wearing a fucking _dress._

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Stage Three: Bargaining

"Look, God… I think I've been a pretty fucking awesome Jew lately. I really wanted to get that baconator from Wendy's last Tuesday, but I totally _didn't_. Well… I didn't eat a whole _sandwich_. In my defense, Santana was gonna throw it away and you know how chicks can be-you made 'em after all… yeah, thanks for that, by the way-and I figured wasting would be more sinful than eating pork. I don't know why you don't want us to eat pigs, man… they're not that bad, and I think you need to be less uptight about it. Maybe you just had a bad experience, because that baconator was made of some serious win.

"Anyway… what I wanted to talk to you about, Lord, was Kurt Hummel. I don't really know why you wanted to fuck with my brain and wire me differently, because I always thought you weren't too crazy about the gays. And I don't know if you realized, but I'm pretty sure he's German.

"I figured if you could maybe make this crazy perma-boner lay low, that'd be great, because it's getting kind of awkward to do choreography with a stiff one. I think Brad's gonna need some therapy if I have to go on like this much longer, and Schue might get some crazy idea that I'm doin' Viagra and stage an intervention with that Clorox-happy counselor.

"So yeah… if you could do that for me, Lord, that'd be great. I promise to be a better Hebe when I can look at Hummel without poking my own eye out. Peace, man."

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Stage Four: Depression

When his boner never backed off (if anything, it got worse: he started _feeling_ things with something besides his man-meat), Puck found himself feeling really bummed out. He still ate and slept and stuff, because he wasn't so pathetic that he couldn't function when he found himself… _feeling_for Kurt, but he just lost the desire to do fun stuff. Like… usually, he'd always fuck off in his room after school and play video games, watch TV and eat shit with enough powdered cheese to give himself club fingers.

But now he spent time actually making an effort in school. While he usually forced Kurt into letting him copy their math homework, now he actually stuck around and asked Kurt to explain things to him(as nicely as possible without making Kurt suspicious… which was harder than he expected because holy shit, was that boy paranoid). He'd always smile and say "Thanks, Kurt" after, and from the wide-eyed look of confused terror Kurt gave him Puck felt like his smile was homicidal or something.

He'd head home and plop on his bed, TV off and ignored as he sighed and angsted and thought about Kurt in his fluffy pink cashmere scarf while he rubbed one off.

He was listlessly plucking out the melody of some sappy love song when his mom knocked on his door and walked in a millisecond after. "Noah, _mazik_, you need to clean this sty! And it's so _dark_in here," she complained, walking over to the blinds to draw them open. Puck winced at the stream of sunlight that hit him right in the face.

She turned and walked over to sit in his computer chair, grimacing at a pair of dirty socks hanging off the back of it. "I was making a shopping list, and I noticed that you barely touched any of your Cheetos or Doritos. And the Lays I bought you last time aren't even _opened!_ Why have you gotten so wasteful, _Boychick_?"

Puck muttered something, and his mother just rolled her eyes and whispered a prayer to herself as she got up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Noah, I never thought I'd say this, but… I want you to play your silly little cartoons, and if I get back home and _none_ of those bags of junk food you always make me buy are touched, I'm grounding you."

He sighed as his bedroom door closed once more, putting his guitar off to the side before folding his arms behind his head. He knew things had to look bad if his ma was begging him to play Mario Kart, but for some reason he just couldn't find it in himself to care.

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Stage Five: Acceptance

After a bit of porn and weekend soul-searching, on Monday Puck walked into McKinley a changed man.

He'd showered and shaved, and for once he looked like he'd spent more than five seconds rummaging around in his hamper for clean clothes. He even got his mom to iron the olive-green overshirt that she claimed made his eyes pop. She'd cried and started praising the Lord in the Heavens for fixing her son. ("I was about to ask Rabbi Johnson to make a house call, I was so worried!")

Puck took a deep breath as his eyes focused on that woman's-department cashmere sweater (ice-blue this time) and he strode over to that turned back, all determination and courage.

Kurt was talking in hushed tones to Mercedes, and she was the one who noticed Puck first. She raised an eyebrow, but wordlessly directed Kurt's attention to him.

"Oh. Hey, Puck. What's up?" Kurt said casually enough. His smile wasn't explosively sunny or anything, but it looked pretty genuine. "I don't think we had any homework over the weekend, but if you need my notes to study-"

"It's not that."

Kurt blinked. "Oh? Then what is it?"

Puck rolled his shoulders and stood taller, confidence making his heart race. (Or maybe it was just being so close to Kurt. He always smelled so _good,_ dammit.)

Kurt looked slightly concerned now. "Are you okay, Puck? You look a little…"

"I like you." Puck blurted out. Kurt froze mid-speech. Behind him, Mercedes gave a quiet_"Mothafu…" _Puck felt his face flush red.

"I like you, Kurt, and I was wondering-you wanna hang out sometime?"


End file.
